


Waste

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:57:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8570620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Based off of supernaturalimagines:Imagine making a deal with Crowley to not be alone anymore and he’s the one who becomes your friend.





	

The group of coworker cackle, a superior’s lame joke the cause of their fake laughter. Y/N places her sandwich on the round empty table. The department head leaves the table, waving goodbye to his soon, where nearly the entire department was seated. The mixed group happily regaled each other with stories of their weekend and gossip about other departments. Y/N swallows her fear, anxiety about rejection eating away at her nerves, and grabs her meager lunch. With swift steps she approaches the group. Y/N hands are lightly shaking and her right eye twitches when she finally stops in front of her coworkers. They completely ignore her. Their conversation about the weekend's work dinner goes on as if they can’t see Y/N from the corner of their eyes.

 

Y/N clears her throat, “Hey, is it okay if I sit with you guys?” Everyone looks around at each other, uncomfortable and irritated at the interruption. Finally, someone speaks up.

 

A brusque man speaks for everyone, his beige shirt rolls together as he crosses his arms. “Sorry, table’s full. Maybe next time.” He flashes a condescending smile, not an ounce of remorse in his bones.

 

“O-okay. Yeah, maybe next time.” Y/N hangs her head and leaves the cafeteria.

 

She plops down into her cubicle, closing the flimsy, frosted privacy door. Her weak appetite disappears. Y/N tosses the uneaten sandwich into her bag. Unsure of what to do Y/N shakes her computer mouse and goes back to work, completely unfocused. The day crawls by, the sound of keyboards clacking and phones ringing turning into white noise. Gossip occasionally seeps in through the inadequate partitions. When five rolls by Y/N leaves her office without saying goodbye or looking at anyone. Without a second thought Y/N ends up at a bar, the C. Sawdust is spread across the floor and stuffed animals line the walls. The smell of fried fish and smoke fill the closed off bar. Y/N greets the middle-aged bartender. Her favorite beer and a cold mug are set before she can even sit down.

 

“Bad day? You look awful, sweets.” The older woman’s hoarse, chain smoker’s voice breaks through the sound of billiard balls clashing in the background.

 

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it.” Y/N almost chugs the frothy draft beer. The bubbles rake against her sore throat. Y/N grimaces as sighs. Even the beer tastes like shit today.

 

A man in a long coat and three piece suit sits on the seat next to Y/N. His cologne and outfit makes him stick out like a sore thumb. He looks way too rich to be there. The bikers and construction workers share confused glances before continuing their conversations. The man grins at the bartender and she melts a little inside.

 

“Whiskey.” His voice is gruff. Harriet brings him a short glass with the strong brown liquor swaying at the bottom. He thanks her and turns towards Y/N. His appearing a deep brown in the barely lit bar. “Cheers.”

 

Y/N raises her drink and watches as the man takes a slow sip of his drink. “Usually don’t see guys like you here. What brings you here?”

 

He smirks and scratches his scruff. “Business.” Y/N laughs, baffled by what “business” would bring a well-dressed wall street type to the area. “You?”

 

“Huh?” Y/N gives the man a bewildered look before understanding what he meant. “Oh, nostalgia. My family used to come visit whenever we were in the area. All you can eat fish and chips.”

 

The man’s chuckle sounds as if it was coming from deep within his chest. Y/N can’t figure out what hooked her in first, his British accent or that laugh. “Y/N.” She outstretches her hand.

 

“Crowley.” His large, unmoisturized hand clasps hers.

 

The night starts to fly by. Crowley and Y/N share stories of their dreadful co workers and jobs. He makes it fairly clear that his situation is anything but ideal. Even at the top there is no help or consideration. Crowley can sense the constant hunger for his position, the battle ready to break out if he stumbles. Y/N freely shares her situation as well. New to the city, a transfer from a larger town, no close family and no friends. Perfect cocktail for loneliness. Crowley is quick to offer a solution.

 

“Well, I can help with that. In my line of work, we make people’s biggest dreams come true.” Crowley lays it on thick. Despite the alcohol in both of their systems Y/N is the only one really feeling the buzz.

 

“Oh, I didn’t know I was drinking with the fairy godmother. Can you grant me a social life? Maybe even a friend? Or do you just give princess dresses?” Y/N snorts as she drinks the last of her fourth beer.

 

“If you want friends I can make that happen.” Crowley clear cut answer makes Y/N choke on her drink, the liquid going up into her nose.

 

Y/N grabs a napkin and clutches at her nose as she coughs. Crowley hides his amusement. Once Y/N reorganizes herself she verifies what Crowley said. Apparently, for her soul he will give her whatever she wants. Money, fame, anything. Maybe it's the alcohol, the shitty day, or Crowley confident disposition but Y/N agrees after clarifying.

 

“I just need one friend. Someone who can get what I’m going through.” 

 

They shake hands and part ways after one final drink. Y/N calls a cab, gets into her apartment and passes out. It never occurs to her that the deal she just made would come true, let alone who would become her new “friend”.

 

With a blistering headache Y/N stumbles to her kitchen looking for some pain pills but finds Crowley relaxing on her gray IKEA couch, an espresso in his hand. He leisurely waves, not moving an inch. Y/N grabs the closest thing, a pot on her gas stove top and launches it across the room, smacking Crowley on the face.

 

“Why are you in my house?!” Crowley raises from his seat, a fed up look on his face. Y/N backs up as Crowley gets off the couch.

 

Crowley rubs his sore cheek and calms his anger. “I may be a demon but I plan on keeping our deal. You get ten years of friendship, escape from loneliness, and I get your soul. That’s why I’m here.” Crowley straightens his deep blue silk tie. A sarcastic smile stretches his cheeks. “How you doing, bestie?”

 

Y/N’s headache only intensifies. Feeling like she is going out of her mind Y/N gets ready for work and heads out the door. As she parks her small red car in the parking lot she can’t bring herself to get out. Y/N rests her head on the steering wheel. It finally hits her that she sold her soul for ten years of not being lonely. She could have anything and her drunk self chose friends. Y/N can only think that it was a waste. The last minute alarm warning Y/N that she’ll be late blares from her phone. With heavy steps Y/N heads inside.

 

The office day goes like every other day. Everyone has their cliques and no “outsider” can dare get in. They joke and help each other while ignoring those they have cast away. Lunch comes by and everyone leaves for the cafeteria but Y/N. Not wanting to face everyone Y/N decides to skip lunch and use that hour to get ahead of work. That way she can leave early. Hopefully.

 

“Knock, knock.” Crowley is at the entrance of Y/N’s cubicle, lunch in hand and a slick smile on his face.

 

Y/N pulls him in by his coat and closes the privacy door. She whispers, “Why are you here? Don’t you have something better to do?”

 

“I’m doing my job.” Crowley sits on the edge of the l-shaped metal desk. “I get why you sold your soul now. This place is depressing.”

 

Crowley notices Y/N unchanging expression of discomfort and frustration. He presses his hand against her forehead instantly getting rid of her headache. The unbearable pressure finally gone Y/N can actually look at her computer screen without feeling like screaming. She mutters a thank you not wanting to admit that her stomach is rumbling in hunger. In return Crowley shoves a luxury lunch box in her face. Inside is her favorite meal from when she was a kid. The smell alone reminds her of home. Y/N looks up to say thanks again but Crowley’s gone. She looks around her cubicle but not even the door has been opened again.

 

“Thanks.”

 

The afternoon bustle could drive monks insane. Especially because the same man from lunch yesterday decides to make Y/N’s life miserable. Derek kisses up to the department lead, Phil, and pushes the blame of his unfinished work on Y/N. It is the largest pile of nepotism Y/N has even seen. Derek is under qualified, never even graduating college but still somehow in a position that requires a Master’s, and lazy. That work now on Y/N’s desk was assigned weeks ago. Now Y/N’s left with nearly a month’s worth of work due Friday, in three days.

 

Derek smiles to his father, a princely aura surrounding him, but as soon as daddy rounds the corner it shatters. He goes to sneer at Y/N, about to tell her to do a good job or else he’ll have her fired, but he freezes. A pig like squeal is all Y/N hears as Derek runs off faster than Usain Bolt. She hears a familiar deep chortle behind her.

 

“What did you do?” Y/N wants to be angry having Crowley barge back in her office, but if her hunch is right, he’s responsible for getting that asshole off her back for now.

 

“Look in a mirror, love.”

 

The front facing camera on her phone shows that her eyes are pitch black. Even the whites of her eyes are hidden. For a moment she wishes she could have them like that whenever she wanted. Crowley snaps and her eyes return to normal but the idiotic grin on her face doesn’t leave.

 

“What else can you do?” Crowley feels proud that even if it is just a moment of curiosity it is better than spending ten years tending to an enraged client. Curiosity he can work with.

 

Crowley whispers in Y/N’s ear, “A lot of things. But I’ll start with this.” He an instant the work that would have taken multiple all nighters to finish is complete. All the t's are crossed and all i’s are dotted. “Let’s get you out of here.”

 

The two head back to Y/N’s apartment. She takes the four mile car ride to ask as many questions as Crowley would allow. Y/N questions how he plans on getting rid of her loneliness and all he says is that he did all his research, that helping her will be the easiest job he ever had. Crowley was quick to deflect her questions about his life before becoming a demon, but one question turns Y/N somber. Maybe even a little more understanding of why Crowley decided to be so secretive.

 

“Do you like being a demon? I mean, do you ever want to do something else?” Y/N glances away from the road to see Crowley blankly staring at the passing cars and construction cones.

 

“Do you ever wish you had followed your dreams?” Y/N goes silent. She still can remember the smell of exhaust and fresh tires when she decided to become a publishing assistant. Dreams of what her life would have been like if she just took over the garage still leave a bitter taste in Y/N’s mouth. “Then you understand that just like people have had to adapt I’ve had to adapt to the stupidity of working in Hell.”

 

The rest of the drive is somber. Crowley hums an old song he remembers from when he was a child, the only fond memory he has of his mortal life. The elevator ride up is even more uncomfortable. They stand in silence until the reach Y/N’s floor. She takes out her key to unlock her door and faintly hears Crowley say farewell. Feeling terrible for possibly making Crowley uncomfortable Y/N calls out to Crowley.

 

“Why don’t you come in?” Y/N realizes how weird it sounds for her to invite Crowley in and gives a weak excuse. “I probably won’t be able to fall asleep soon. So, I might need my bestie there..” She immediately wants to smack herself for the cringey comment.

 

Before she can say to forget it Crowley takes her key, unlocks her door, and walks in like he owns the place. He places his coat on the back of the sofa and sits down. Y/N follows after him, kicking off her work shoes and plops down on the couch next to Crowley. They turn the TV on, a crappy horror movie playing on the last channel she watched. Crowley goes to ask what exactly did she need him for if all they were going to do is watch a movie but Y/N passed out on the armrest of the couch. Crowley scoffs at how easily she fell asleep. Her neck is scrunched as she curls into a ball, her legs practically in her chest. Crowley rolls his eyes and uses his jacket to cover Y/N. In the moment, watching Y/N sleep so peacefully and content, Crowley can’t wait to reap the rewards of capturing a happy soul.

 

He can’t help praising himself occasionally as he watches Y/N grow. She went from fearing her co workers to standing up for herself when they tried to push the blame on her. Sometimes even going as far as preemptively creating situations where if they tried to make her look bad it would only backfire. With one less stress on her shoulders Y/N became a new person around Crowley. Even during the times he couldn’t be bothered learning about her years watching her family work in a pit crew before owning their own garage Crowley found himself not dreading those moments. For once, someone was talking to him without wanting something back or looking for his weak points.

 

Crowley finds himself becoming attached to Y/N the more her puppy like personality starts to show. Even though at first it bothered him when he’d show to check on Y/N that she’d fling her arms around his waist, bouncing like a child, but he realized how much he enjoys it the first time Y/N didn’t greet him normally. That night he as he listens to Y/N talk about her father’s sudden passing he noticed how much he’d been relying on her excited reactions and energy to revive him from his stressful work with the Winchesters.

 

As Y/N’s time starts to fade faster than either of them expected Crowley becomes anxious. The contract weighs on his mind whenever he leaves her house or the C. Tonight is no different. Crowley keeps staring at his watch. Only six months, two weeks, and five minutes left before the hounds come for her. Crowley looks across the breakfast bar, watching Y/N make them dinner, a routine the two have become particularly attached to. Y/N sets dinner down on the counter, the fragrant aroma would have been enough to make Crowley hungry if he was human. She digs into her food and Crowley just watches for a moment, soaking in the million of faces she pulls without meaning to. He smiles to himself before taking a bit. In these moments Crowley really wishes he could eat Y/N’s food more often.

 

“Is something bothering you? You’re pulling that face again.” Y/N bits down on her fork, simply staring at Crowley.

 

“What face? I’m not making a face.” Y/N laughs and reaches over the table, the fork still in her mouth.

 

“This face!” Y/N tugs lightly at Crowley’s cheeks, smushing and stretching them in every direction. The tops of her cheeks almost covering her eyes with how widely she smiles.

 

Crowley jokingly smacks her hands away and she removes the fork before sticking her tongue out at him. Y/N sees Crowley’s limp smile fall as he remembers again that they don’t have much time left. In six months time he won’t be having this dinners or enjoying her random dancing just to make him laugh. Crowley almost regrets making this deal to begin with. While Crowley is lost in thought Y/N walks around the counter and kisses Crowley’s bearded cheek. He snaps out of his thoughts entirely focused on his companion.

 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Crowley knows better. Almost ten years of knowing Y/N makes it hard for her to lie to him.

 

The crestfallen expression she is fighting back screams through her weak smile and tender eyes. It’s killing her not to know what is bothering her closest friend. She wants to know what has made the sarcastic but chatty Crowley fall silent. It could be the time constraint or just the way the kitchen spotlights highlight Y/N’s face but Crowley doesn’t fit his instinct. He brings her into a deep kiss, his fingers tangling in her hair. Y/N is more than happy to return Crowley’s advances. The bottled up sexual frustration since that first night at the C pours out.

 

Clothing is abandoned long before they reach Y/N’s room. Her bed welcomes the two into a cotton paradise where time limits and daily concerns are irrelevant. Crowley’s hands can’t find a place to settle. He wants to feel all of her against him, to etch into his memory every freckle and the birthmark under her left breast. Their breathy moans fill the house. Crowley delights in every display of dominance and the sight of Y/N’s face above him as she rides him to climax. Even after two more rounds they still can’t get enough of each other. Greed to hear their names falling out of each other’s mouths, being screamed into the sheets and their skin, only grows with each orgasm and lust filled gaze.

 

Crowley feels a different kind of desire when morning comes. He watches Y/N sleep beside him, the marks from his rough kisses starting to appear across her chest. Crowley rests his forehead against hers for a moment and heads off. His throne room feels incredibly bland despite the detailed architecture and Hell’s tenants waiting for litigation in comparison to the warmth in Y/N’s simple apartment. Crowley calls out to one particular junior demon, a man about six foot five with the demeanor of a chihuahua high on meth.

 

“Y-ye-yes, sir? Uh, sorry! King Crowley! What can I help you with, King Crowley?” The demon looks like he just shit all over the floor and doesn’t want anyone to know that he did it.

 

“Find out how to break a crossroads contract.” Crowley sits on his lavish throne, his mind racing possible tactics to rid Y/N of her debt.

 

“But, sir, King, Crowley,” A stiff stare makes the anxious demon continue, “there is no way to break a contract. A soul is owed and the debtor must provide. That’s rule number one.”

 

“Listen,” Crowley barks at the underling already not in the mood to be told no. “I know there isn’t. So make one. Find one a loophole. Just figure out how I can terminate a contract before collection time rolls by.” Crowley’s phone trills, a text message from Y/N waiting. “Dismissed.” He opens the message and laughs to himself.

 

_ You left too quickly! You better make it up to me after work, Growley! _

 

_ What do I get out of working overtime? Stop calling me Growley! _

 

Another text message comes. This time a picture. Y/N is dressed in a set of navy blue lingerie. The straps of fabric accentuate her figure. Her work clothes are barely on, hanging off of her and skimming the surface of the floor already. A simple caption follows.

 

_ Will this do? _

 

Crowley scoffs, recognizing just how wrapped around her finger he has become. Neither can remember when they last thought that Y/N’s wish was wasteful. It became more meaningful to both of them than they ever thought. 


End file.
